Judgement Day
by Checkerz
Summary: Shawn struggles with the events that occurred in "STASITD." Warnings for an anxiety attack, Post-Traumatic Stress, and strong language.


Summary: Shawn struggles with the events that occurred in "STASITD." _Warnings for an anxiety attack, Post-Traumatic Stress, and strong language_.

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Author Notes: This is a rewrite of a previous story I wrote, "Fight Song." I would not suggest reading it but if you so desire it is still available. I wrote this in order to avoid my essay so congratulations to you all. It's going to be an angst fest so enjoy lovelies!

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**Judgement Day**

The silence was deafening. Shawn's eyes dulled as a numbness spread straight from his heart to his fingertips. A cold sweat set in as the psychic just stared dazingly at the _Ever-Last_ bag. He swallowed, hands trembling. The hand resting in its sling curled into an aching fist. The police department's gym was quiet and empty; the shadows fell over the room illuminating the light above the boxing ring. It was where Shawn stood now as his body trembled and his mind spun quickly. The silence began to creep under his skin, but he made no move to speak. How was it possible to feel nothing yet everything?If Shawn were honest, a rare feat, he would admit to feeling helpless. It was an unusual feeling for the psychic and one that revisited every time his father, Gus, or Juliet looked at him with pity. He wasn't a stranger to pity but recent events had made his thick skin crack. If anything made Shawn's skin crack it was the insinuation that he was going to break. He blinked as his throat ran dry and his mind sped faster. A lot had happened over the years, but he had never felt afraid. Fear was for the neuro-typical and Shawn was anything but typical. Typically, fear was a foe that rolled his skin like water. This luxury was before he was shot and kidnapped. Shawn's clenched fist slowly relaxed in its confinement. Fear didn't cut it, he was terrified. He hated the looks, he hated the fear, and he hated the silence. Silence gave others the opportunity to see who he really was. His skin was armored for a reason and the best armor was always a joke. As the consultant stood alone in the ring trembling in fear, he would say that was the biggest joke of all. All Hail Shawn Spencer, the Great Psychic Extraordinaire, and the dumbest genius in all of Santa Barbara. He wanted to be the joke, so why did it bother him now? Why couldn't Shawn snap out of it and bounce back like normal? His fingers traced lightly over the ragged bump on his shoulder. The gym turned into a grainy image of the bullet exiting the guns chamber; this image became clearer on repeat. He wasn't just watching the bullet in action: he could feel it. Shawn was an ironic victim of his own mind and abilities. His eyes snapped shut as Garth Longmore staring back at him burned into every corner. As the scene played out, Shawn felt like screaming at himself to stop talking. People had been telling him that his whole life and look where it got him. The _Ever-Last_ bag seemed to mock him as it lay untouched. The spinning inside of him increased with his frustration. _He was an idiot_; Shawn took a step back as his teeth gnashed in irritation. His steps continued until his back felt the resistance of the boxing ring's ropes. Why was he even here? What in the hell did Shawn Spencer have to prove that he could prove here? The brunette blinked rapidly, struggling to get his newfound anxiety under control. As his breaths came in and out slowly, his anxiety slightly dampened, if ever so slightly. _This_. This is where it had gotten him. His gnashing continued as a growl escaped between Shawn's teeth. He never did shut up. He never shut up during Lassie's interrogation four years ago and he never shut up as Garth Longmore pulled the trigger.

"Idiot!" His free hand pulled at the strands of his hair furiously, "You fucking idiot!"

In a moment of blind anger, the hand shot out and struck the bag. The chains rattled as his breaths grew ragged. Shawn shivered, "I'm an idiot," his whisper dropped into the quiet room like a pin needle.

He idiotically almost got himself killed.

'_I will shoot you.'_

The bullet exited again.

'_If it were me, I would have just been happy stealing the ice cream.'_

Shawn tried to swallow as the anxiety bubbled up in his stomach. He never professed to be an expert on human emotion, let alone his own; additionally, he never professed to be an amateur. Shawn would never deny his lack of empathy with other people, but he would never offer it either. He was good at deduction and putting together puzzles-not connecting with other people and their emotions. So maybe he was a sociopath, that wasn't his fault. Shawn had been built that way and had never been bothered by it until Garth Longmore. There were a lot of people who tried to kill Shawn and a lot of people he had almost gotten killed, but none of them had died because of him. Longmore died because the police's resident psychic didn't know when to shut the hell up. This wasn't a game anymore and Shawn was tired of playing.

Shawn broke out of his thoughts for a moment and spoke to thin air, "I…you…you could have killed me. You could have done more than shoot me, so _why didn't you? _Why did I keep talking? You didn't deserve what happened…you didn't deserve to die a-and," a trembling hand wiped across his mouth, "You didn't deserve to die," his opposing hand clenched tightly as the pain whitened his vision. He could live with the bullet exiting the chamber, but he couldn't live with the brain matter hitting the concrete. Shawn could deal with his blood but not Garth Longmore's.

"I didn't mean to kill you."

Nothing he did would bring the man back.

"…"

Shawn felt his shoulder throbbing as he discarded his burgundy sling. As quickly as it hit the mat it was kicked into a corner. The faux psychic grabbed some bandages and angrily wrapped them around his trembling hands. Nothing would bring him back or stop the nightmare in his brain, but he could feel what he should have felt a long time ago. His neglected arm tingled as blood flowed through it freely. The relief was temporary as Shawn's fist slammed into the black bag. It thudded loudly, making the chains twist. His knees crumpled immediately as the white in his vision turned black momentarily. He let out a tight gasp as sweat dripped off his chin.

'_I will shoot you.' _

Stars shone brightly behind closed eyes as Shawn resisted an escaping sob.

'_Imagine this bullet lodging into your brain. Can you imagine how easy that would be for me?'_

The psychic clutched his shoulder as he staggered to his feet. The air in his lungs had to liquid flames as his wound bit into him. He didn't have to use his imagination. He was pretty sure the bullet shattering Longmore's skull was a pretty decent picture.

Anger dipped into his stomach, churning the liquid flames into lava as Shawn released his shoulder and fired at the bag again.

Fire. Repeat.

He caught himself this time as his knees bent and grabbed the chains to steady himself. Shawn began to let out a few softer punches, trying to get a feel for it. A jab here and a jab there, and then a hard-right hook. His breaths pushed sharply against his teeth. Shawn fought off the grainy images as he fired off a punch. Fireworks exploded behind his eyeballs. Shawn cried out, cradling his injured arm gingerly. As sweat dripped from every pour he carried on, the grainy images only fueling the flames. Every time his shoulder moved back it took the brunt of his fury-driven combination.

_Juliet_.

His fists dug deeper as his hips pulled his power. She had changed recently; then again, maybe they all had. They weren't young anymore and the cases weren't getting any safer.

A few more painful combinations.

Shawn pretended his cases weren't but there was only so much pretending you could do before it got you killed. Despite his antics, fake psychics weren't excluded. Maybe punching this bag until his knuckles bled was the only thing that could give Shawn that sense of invulnerability. He used to be in control. This helplessness wasn't the norm for him, and Juliet seemed to see that behind all of her anger towards him. She had the right to be angry: Shawn had accused her brother of murder.

'_You're always fighting with your father and you rarely see your mother_-'

THUMP.

'_He left us. He got the house and left you to pick up the pieces!'_

THUMP-THUMP. His breaths came out ragged as his shoulder protested. Shawn saw red as the images refused to fade.

**THUMP!**

'_Shawn…I left him.'_

Shawn was done being afraid.

THUMP-THUMP.

'_What is it like to kill someone?'_

**SLAM!**

'_I pray you never find out._'

A noise tore through Shawn as he stopped to breathe. Burning shoulders shook as salty sweat fell in his eyes, "Shut up! SHUT UP-SHUT UP! _**SHUT UP!**_"

'_If it were me, I'd just be happy stealing the ice cream.' _

**BANG!**

The world around him blurred as his ears rang.

"That shot was meant for me," Shawn fell to the ground in his confession. His knees crumpled in one fluid motion as bloody hands hugged his torso, "Oh my God! I should be dead. _Why aren't I dead?_" Familiar calloused hands touched his good shoulder. A sob broke from him as Henry wrapped his arms around his son.

"Ssh, it's okay kid," Henry rocked him back and forth. "It's okay."

_Garth's Longmore vacant eyes stared back him; what was left his brain dripped blood onto the cement. A shot rang out and Shawn tore back in terror_.

"It's my fault," he cried, "I killed him! **It's my fault!**"

As the air grew thinner, his hug became tighter, "It's okay. I'm here Shawn. You're okay."

Henry ran his fingers through soft hair in a soothing gesture. They both sat there while Shawn fought off his demons.

"_Call me when somebody gets shot or there's a dead body."_

_"I've got more than enough bags for your body parts."_

_"What should I call you? Mr. Blonde? Mr. Pink?"_

_"Binshot not lol"_

_"Imagine this bullet lodging into your brain. Can you imagine how easy that would be for me?"_

_"Look man, I've been __**shot**__! I'm going to jump on __**somebody's**__ car!"_

_"Nice shooting detective."_

_"Remember the wind chimes I got you for your birthday?"_

_"He was just trying to talk to his girlfriend!"_

_"How stupid can you get? The cops are probably halfway here by now!"_

_"I call it...very close talking."_

_A nod, "I'm ending this."_

One day he was going to die. All Shawn had to do was accept that.


End file.
